WWJD?

The following story comes from the treasury of Pautler family lore. I cannot assure the accuracy of every detail. Some content has been reconstructed. Nonetheless, here is the story, as related by my brother, Tom. Many years ago, our dad called Tom in Seattle to ask a favor. Their conversation unfolded in this manner.
“Son”
“Yes Dad.”
“Your cousin, Rocky, is in the hospital. He’s going to have surgery. He’s really upset. Do you think you could visit him?”
Dad related as much as he knew about cousin Rocky’s surgery. Rocky’s father had died “on the table” several months earlier. This added to Rocky’s anxiety.
“Dad, the operation is no big deal. He’ll get through it just fine. Besides, that hospital is in a bad part of town. I don’t like going there, especially at night.”
“Son, he’s really upset. It would mean a lot to me if you could see him. Would you do that for me? Would you do it for our Lord?”
Tom’s resistance gave way. He made the trek to the hospital, and reassured his cousin. “Rocky, this is a simple procedure. It’s nothing for you to worry about. It’s nothing like what your father had to face. You’re going to be just fine.”
Rocky was comforted by the visit and calmed down. Tom wished him luck, said goodbye and headed out the door.
“Tom, there’s one more thing.”
“What’s that, Rocky?”
“The food here is terrible. After I’m discharged, I have to get home, but I don’t have any money. Could you loan me a little money so I can get some food and some gas?”
“How much do you need, Rocky?”
“$100 should be enough.”
“A hun ... OK, I’ll see what I can do.” Tom was able to cash a check — I guess that’s one of the doctor’s “hospital privileges” — and gave Rocky the money.
“Gosh, thanks Tom. You know I’m good for this. I’ll pay you back.”
Later that week, Tom called home.
“Dad.”
“Yes, son.”
“I went to see Rocky like you asked. I told him he’d be fine; he’s going to make it.”
There was a great sigh of relief. “Oh, son, thank you so much. That means a lot to me. I know our Lord is so pleased.”
“Dad, there’s something else. Rocky said he was broke. He needed money to get home. I loaned him $100.”
“That was so good of you, helping your cousin like that.”
“Dad. I know I’m never going to see that money from Rocky. I think you should pay me back.”
Whenever our dad became especially distressed, he had a peculiar groan that came from the depth of his gut. This was one of those occasions.
“Oh no, oh no!”
At this point, mother entered the conversation.
Of course, she had been listening all the while.
“Francis, what happened? Who died?”
“No one died. Tommy loaned $100 to his cousin, Rocky, and he expects us to pay it back.”
“That nut! I wish someone had died.”
“Son, I only asked you to see your cousin. I didn’t say anything about giving him any money. That $100 is between you and Rocky.”
“Dad. I don’t have it. The clinic I bought is killing me. The only reason I went to see Rocky is because you asked me. I did something nice for you; you should do something nice for me.”
There was silence at the other end of the line. “Dad, what would Jesus do?”
Sometimes, waiting for an answer is a matter of waiting for the mail. That week, a check arrived in the mail. It wasn’t from Rocky.